


Seeing

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes losing two senses for Jim to finally really see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing

## Seeing

by Trekker

Author's website:  <http://trkkr47.tripod.com/>

These characters were created by Pet Fly and used without their consent or knowledge. Please don't sue me!

Thank yous go to Jenn, Anita, and especially Rhonda who beta'ed this. Any remaining mistakes are due to my own mule-headedness.

* * *

"Thanks, Officer, we'll take it from here," Sandburg said with a forced smile. "Nice work, by the way." 

Officer Warren nodded with equally false politeness, and as soon as he turned to go, he twisted his features into an angry snarl. _Stupid bastard. Thinks he's so fucking smart just cause he kissed some serious ass and got to be Detective right out of the academy. Thinks he's so special. I could beat him so seriously..._

Warren jammed his hand into his pocket when he reached his squad car. There was nothing in there. Damn it, he must have dropped his keys back there. He turned around and headed back the way he'd come. A brisk autumn breeze was blowing down the street, and a trio of carved pumpkins leered from a store window. For once it actually wasn't raining. 

He reached the corner that led into the alley where the victims of a double murder had been slain. The moment Warren rounded the corner, he froze. 

Sandburg and his partner, Ellison, were standing side-by-side over the bodies facing away from the mouth of the alley. Sandburg had his hand on Ellison's back, and he was rubbing it in circles. Well, wasn't that cozy? Warren's stomach muscles clenched. He'd always suspected, but he sure as hell didn't want to see THAT. 

Then, the breeze died suddenly, and he could hear what Sandburg was saying. 

"Ok, focus on smell, tune out all the blood, try to isolate that perfume, ok?" 

Ellison seemed kind of tense. His head moved a little, like he really was sniffing the air, and he suddenly dropped down into a crouch and gently ran his fingertips over the dead man's upper lip, then held his fingers up to his nose and sniffed at it lightly. 

"Shit," he said suddenly, "it's the same stuff from the Conley case. Lavender and chloroform." 

"Fuck," Sandburg said. "Are you sure?" 

"Sentinel senses don't lie, Chief. It's even got the same weird tinge to it." 

Sentinel? Whoa, so the little shit had been lying at that press conference. No wonder that Ellison always won cop of the year. He was a freak of nature. That was hardly fair. Warren deliberately scuffed his foot on the pavement to announce his presence and walked into the alley as though he'd just come around the corner. 

"Dropped my keys," he said. 

Sandburg and Ellison exchanged a nervous glance, and then Ellison glanced around the alley. 

"They're right there," he said, gesturing over to a small pile of leaves. It took Warren a second to see them. He scooped them up and walked out of the alley without another word. 

* * *

When they pulled back into the garage at the station, Jim immediately noticed the knot of new officers near the elevators. Damn. It was those jerks from Sandburg's graduating class. He was beginning to think he hated those bastards more than his partner did. Jim glanced over at said partner and saw that Sandburg had also noticed the group. His movements were a little jerky as he undid his seat belt and opened the truck door, but he didn't comment. Jim hopped out of the truck and noticed that Blair waited for him to walk around the hood and join him before they both started walking towards the elevator. 

Jim could easily hear the group's loud conversation. Hell. Warren was recounting exactly what he'd seen at the crime scene, including what Jim had said about his "Sentinel senses." Jim felt a twinge of fear. Hopefully, no one would believe Warren. After all, he did have a tendency to exaggerate... Luckily, the topic of the conversation changed the moment one of the other new officers, Daniels, passed by the group. 

"Hey Einstein... read any good books lately?" Warren taunted. "Was your mommy mad that you were only second in your class?" 

Daniels didn't rise to the bait, just pressed the button to summon the elevator and waited silently. The gang lost interest as soon as Jim and Blair came into range. 

"Saaandburg," Warren said, swaggering a few steps towards them, "How IS everything up in Major Crimes? Are they riding you hard?" 

"Everything's just fine, thanks, Warren," Blair replied, as though he didn't care, although his heartbeat told a different story. Jim wanted to throttle the man, but restrained himself for Blair's sake. Warren, who had at least been polite at the crime scene, always acted up when he was with his cronies. 

They didn't break stride walking past the loose circle standing near the wall, until one of the nearer men lunged to the side, jostling Blair into Jim. Jim just calmly steadied his partner with a light hand to his shoulder and they just kept right on walking, ignoring the laughter, until they stopped next to Daniels at the elevator. 

Blair gave the younger man a smile. 

"Hey, man, how's it going?" 

Daniels didn't meet his eyes. 

* * *

"You know, that's the worst part, man," Blair was saying, gesturing broadly, as they walked out of the elevator and headed for Major Crimes, "I mean, Daniels is a great guy, a smart kid, I'd've loved to have had him in one of my Anthropology courses, you know. And at first we hung out a lot at the Academy. Then people started to talk, you know, about me and the diss and stuff, and it was like, just being associated with me was a bad idea. I mean, Warren is just a jerk, he's no loss, but I could see myself being friends with Daniels if it wasn't for this whole-" 

Jim just let his friend talk with an inward smile. Despite the seriousness of the subject matter, Blair was holding up pretty well, and the fact that he was able to rant meant that he was dealing with the situation. And besides, Jim thought, Blair was kinda cute when he was angry. 

They'd just walked into the bullpen when Blair's tirade was cut short. 

"Sandburg! Ellison! My office!" 

Jim raised his eyebrows and shrugged as Blair's eyes widened, and they both made their way to Simon's office. 

"You bellowed, sir?" 

The Captain glared at them over his desk and then sat up suddenly, tossing the pen he'd been fiddling with down on the desk. 

"Ha ha, Ellison. You've been with that kid too long. Siddown, both of you." 

They sat. 

"Ok, now, I know you two have better things to do with your time, but the mayor got this bright idea about bringing down some drug operations. For the next few weeks, I've been ordered by the Chief to hand you over to Narcotics." 

Instantly both men sat up, protesting. 

"But, Simon-" 

"Sir-" 

Simon held up one hand firmly and both detectives slumped in their chairs and fell silent again. 

"I'm sorry. It's out of my hands. I'm handing the Conley case over to Rafe and Brown." 

A week later, Jim and Blair found themselves scouting out warehouses while the Conley case, with its single clue of the mysterious scent, grew colder and colder. 

* * *

The warehouse was dark. Completely, utterly dark. No shafts of sunlight fell through broken windows. No red lights blinked on security keypads. Nothing. Complete darkness, as though every crack had been sealed, and every source of light extinguished. Blair reached out without thinking to take hold of Jim's jacket sleeve and followed the man, blindly, trusting him to be his eyes. 

"What do you see, Jim?" he whispered. 

There was really no reason to whisper. The warehouse should be deserted at this time of day. The idea was to get in, get a packet or two of cocaine for evidence and then get the hell out. But it was so quiet, it only seemed appropriate to whisper, like in a tomb, or a cathedral. Their footsteps were the only sound, and the way they echoed made the cavernous space sound empty. 

Jim's arm lifted in a shrug, pulling Blair's hand up with it. Blair couldn't see his partner at all. 

"It's empty. No shelves, no nothing. Nothing." 

Suddenly, Jim froze, so quickly Blair jostled into his side. 

"What is it?" 

"There's someone here." 

"What?" Blair repeated in disbelief. If there was someone here, why the hell didn't they turn the fucking lights on? 

"Come on,"Jim murmured, and suddenly they were moving, a little too quickly for Blair's taste. Every step into the dark nothingness felt as though it would lead right off the edge of some vast cliff. _My kingdom for a flashlight..._ Blair thought glumly. 

And then, there was something in the darkness. Blair's shin banged sharply against the edge of a wooden crate. Blair lost his grip on Jim's jacket and hopped on his uninjured leg for a moment, pain sparking through his whole damn body. 

"Ow! Shit! Jim, you jerk, you could have warned me-" 

Out of nowhere, Jim's arm was around his back and his hand was over his mouth, pinning him to Jim's side, immobilizing his arms, and silencing him with just one smooth gesture. Blair felt a soft, bright tingle along his side where Jim's body touched his. Then he was yanked down to the cold, smooth concrete floor. For a moment, there was complete silence. Jim's arm was still around him, and neither of them moved. Finally, Jim must have declared the coast clear, because Blair was abruptly free, and the warm muscular mass that had been beside him was gone. 

He slid his arms in a wide circle around himself, and found that they were in a small clear space surrounded by crates like the one that had attacked his shin. Jim was at about eleven o' clock, kneeling and facing away from Blair, judging by the positioning of his sneakers. 

"Ok, come on man, throw me a line, here... not all of us are Sentinels," Blair whispered. 

"There're three men here. There're standing on a catwalk that runs around the wall. The whole building's empty except for those guys and these boxes. Something seriously strange is going on here. All three are wearing sunglasses and ear plugs... hang on..." 

"What man?" 

"I hear something... like..." There was a long pause. The silence was terrifying combined with the dark, like the world had gone dead. Then Jim spoke again, "Like a pager set on vibrate or something... I need..." 

Blair shifted forward, grateful just for the rustle of his coat when he moved, and laid his hand on Jim's arm. 

"Ok, man, here I am, go ahead and dial it up as much as you need." 

He actually heard Jim nod. He could feel Jim growing still the way he always did when he turned his hearing up. He half-grinned when he realized he knew exactly what Jim would look like right now, kneeling motionless with his head cocked slightly to one side. He rubbed Jim's elbow affectionately, waiting patiently for Jim to report back whatever fascinating little sound he was so interested in. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

The only warning they got was the distant heavy clank of a high voltage switch being thrown. The contrast was so great, it took Blair a long moment to even realize what had happened. For that transition moment, all he knew was that he was in great pain. And then he realized that the world had gone from pitch black to pure white in a heartbeat. Lights. Bright, bright lights. He fell back, and slammed his eyes shut, and it was still too bright. He didn't even notice the shrieking alarm until he realized he had his hands pressed against his ears. 

He forced his hands down and his eyes open, willing them to adjust to the sudden light, and they were adjusting... sort of. 

Then he realized that Jim was still beside him. And he was screaming. 

Blair pressed one hand halfway over his eyes, reducing the light to an almost bearable level, and lunged over to Jim who was slumped against one of the crates, half sitting, with his knees drawn up, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears. Still screaming. He threw one leg over Jim, straddling him on his knees, and covered his Sentinel with his whole body, placing his own hands over Jim's to help blocking the sound, and hoping the meager shadow he cast would block some of the light. 

He could just barely hear Jim's screams over the alarm. His own voice was lost completely, but he shouted himself hoarse anyway. As though he could control Jim's senses by pure force of will alone. 

"Dial it down, dial it DOWN! JIM!!!" 

His eyes finally managed to dim down the light as much as possible and he cast a glance over his shoulder. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck._ The three men were crossing the empty warehouse towards them. They had guns. Big guns. And since he and Jim were behind the only cover available, those men knew exactly where they were. 

Blair threw himself off of Jim, almost falling to his side on the concrete, but catching himself just in time, and then he scooted back against the crates, one hand racing behind his back to get his gun, the other going for his cell phone. He hit the first speed-dial button and lifted his phone and his gun at the same time. 

He knew he wouldn't be able to hear if anyone picked up on the other end, so he just started screaming a mantra, "Simon, send back up! We're trapped, send back up!" 

The men were getting closer. Too close. He dropped the phone and grasped the gun with both hands, keeping it trained on them. They stopped about fifteen feet away and raised their guns without a word. Everything took on an edge of surreality as Blair stared down the barrels of those three semiautomatics, his world filled with bright light and screaming alarms. He shifted into a crouch in what felt almost like slow motion and pulled the trigger. One, two, three, four times. Two of the men went down. But the third was untouched. Blair's gun clicked uselessly in his hand. Fuck. He was sure he'd had a new clip loaded. The third man's lips twisted up in a purely evil smile. 

Jim was still curled up against the boxes. His hands were no longer over his ears, instead they were braced on either side of him. He was staring blankly into space. Blair almost hoped he'd zoned. 

He spun around and dove towards his motionless partner, fell to his knees between Jim's legs and reached both arms around the man as their chests collided, fumbling to get to Jim's gun from its holster at his lower back. Jim flinched at the impact, and suddenly wrapped his arms around Blair. Tightly. Blair panicked. He tried to throw himself back against that viselike embrace, but couldn't even move a centimeter. And then Jim just held him tighter. 

"Christ Jim, let me go! JIM! Wake the hell up! Jim!" 

* * *

Jim didn't even know what hit him. One second there was darkness and silence to match. The next, there was pure, incapacitating, world-ending pain. And then, everything went dark and silent again. But this time, it wasn't just partially dark. It was completely dark. A total lack of both light and sound. Never before in his life had Jim experienced such a complete lack of sensation. Even during the times when his senses had been off-line he'd never experienced pure darkness or pure silence. Those things just didn't exist. There was always some form of light, even on the darkest night. There was always some sound, even if it was just his own heartbeat. Now, there was nothing. 

It was terrifying. 

Blair was gone. He had been there, his hands on Jim's hands, his knees pressing against Jim's hips. Now he was gone. 

Jim had stopped screaming once he realized he was screaming. He'd only known he was when he realized his throat was aching. Now he sat, mute, his back against the rough wood of a crate. That was the only thing in the universe right then. That crate and the patch of floor beneath him, solid, real, vaguely comforting in a world of nothing... NOTHING. His breathing was fast and hard, and he couldn't HEAR it. That was wrong, that was just wrong. He could feel air in his nose, his throat, but he couldn't hear it. 

What was going on? He didn't know. Had no way to tell. What happened to those three men? Where was Blair? 

He knew there was sound. He could feel it, almost rhythmic, against his skin. It was like countless bat wings flapping against him. Then, there was another sensation. Four percussive taps, shock waves of air. Gunshots. Blair. Where was Blair? 

A second later he got his answer as his partner crashed into him. The solid warmth of the other man's body was like manna from heaven. There was finally another person in his empty universe. Blair's hands were scrabbling at his sides, but Jim didn't bother to wonder why. He just wrapped his arms around Blair and crushed him against him. There was breathing against his neck, a heart pumping next to his own. Blair struggled but Jim couldn't bear to let him go. Couldn't bear to be alone again. He tightened his grip and turned his face in the hair next to it, filling his nose with the warm, familiar scent of his guide. His whole body seemed to hum in response to the closeness. Not letting go, never letting go. 

Then even the haven of his sense of touch betrayed him. Blair's body jolted in his arms. Twice. And in time with each jolt, a blossoming spear of pain radiated through Jim's body, one through his side and one through his chest. Shot. They'd been shot. 

Blair wasn't breathing. Blair's heart wasn't beating. Oh god. 

Jim roared, he could feel it in his throat, and shoved Blair aside, drawing his gun at the same time. The angle of the fiery trails through his body pointed out exactly where the shots had come from, and therefore, where he should aim. He emptied the gun into the void. He felt every shot as it shattered down from his gun to his shoulder, and he felt the slight tremor in the concrete beneath him when the gunman fell. 

Were there others? He didn't know. Couldn't know, and couldn't care. He rolled onto his hands and knees and felt around until he found his Guide. He slid his hands up the still body, letting years of CPR training guide him to just the right spot to start compressions. 

For almost a half-hour, he breathed for the other man, touch dialed down as low as possible to ignore the pain. His blood, hot and sticky, slowly soaked through his jacket and ran down his legs. It didn't matter. All that mattered was not letting Blair die. 

He was just leaning in to give another breath, when suddenly someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. He screamed in wordless rage and lurched at his attacker, sending both of them tumbling to the floor. Jim sat up, tried to get back to his guide, but suddenly his head was spinning, and he was sprawled on his back on the floor again with no idea how he got there. Where was Blair? He dialed his sense of smell up and caught the scent of alcohol wipes and gauze, and Blair, and... Simon. The man he'd tackled was Simon. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, big, warm and soothing. The cavalry had arrived. Jim shut his eyes and passed out. 

* * *

Before he opened his eyes, Blair heard the soft rustle of a magazine beside his head. He could smell the tang of antiseptics and cleaning fluids. The room was cool and quiet. He could feel bandages and a needle on his left arm. A hospital. He was in a hospital, and someone was sitting beside his bed. His chest and his leg hurt. 

At first, he kept his eyes closed, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet. The last thing he remembered was noise and light and bullets hammering through his body. Compared to all that, the hospital was a wonderful place to be. 

After a while, he mustered the energy to open his eyes. A soft golden circle of light colored the ceiling. Must have been from the bedside lamp. 

"Jim?" he said, not turning his head. 

The voice that answered was not the one he expected. 

"No, sweetie. Not Jim. Naomi." 

Blair turned his head. Sure enough, his mother was there beside him, closing her magazine and lying it on the table beside her. 

"Welcome back. How are you feeling?" 

"Where's Jim?" 

She reached across him and took his unencumbered hand, squeezing it gently. 

"Don't worry about him, yet. You need rest first. Time to focus on Blair for a little while, ok?" 

Numbing horror shot through him. He'd been right on top of Jim. Pressed right up next him. The bullets must have... Blair's blood suddenly seemed cold. He turned his eyes up to the ceiling again, trying to find some of that detachment Jim always seemed to have in abundance. 

"He's dead. Isn't he? Tell me, please, just tell me." 

"No, no, no, not at all, baby. He's all right. He's better than you, in fact. He saved your life." 

"But... where is he? What's wrong?" Blair tried to sit up. "Damn it, mom, what's-" 

Pain lanced through his chest and he fell back against the stiff white sheets, tears in his eyes. Naomi had leapt to her feet and she pressed her hand to his shoulder. 

"No, no, don't move. You're hurt. Calm down." 

"Mom, please..." 

Naomi sat down slowly, folding her hands in her lap. 

"He's... he's safe now. They put him in a place..." 

"A place? They? Who the hell is they and what the hell kind of place?" 

Blair had to dig his fingers into the mattress to keep from flinging himself out of bed and storming down the hall to demand an explanation. 

"Blair, please, please calm down, you'll hurt yourself. You've been in a coma for a week, baby, you can't just sit up like that..." 

"A week?" 

"You nearly died, sweetie. We were so worried." 

Her voice cracked, but Blair couldn't find sympathy in himself right then. He needed to know. 

"Mom, stop avoiding the question, ok? Where's Jim?" 

"He's..." 

She was silent for a long time, then she said, "He's under psychiatric care, honey. He passed out after the rescue workers arrived and... and after he woke up he just went crazy. Started attacking anyone who got close to him, screaming at the top of his lungs... no one could understand what he wanted... we brought him to see you for a little while, but he practically killed a nurse when she tried to change your dressings... he was dangerous, Blair... we couldn't get through to him." 

Blair couldn't move. It didn't seem real. 

"Why?" 

"They... did some tests... he's lost his hearing and sight, Blair..." 

"No," Blair whispered. Oh god, some guide HE was... 

"Every time someone tries to help him, he fights them. They have to keep him sedated most of the time-" 

"What? Don't they know-" 

"They know about his drug sensitivities, Blair. They have his records. He's ok, he's fine." 

"Ok? He's fucking ok? Yeah, except he's crazy and sedated all the time! He's probably scared out of his mind, mom!" 

A twinge of pain brought Blair's rant to a halt. He slumped back against the bed, suddenly tired. It dragged at his bones. Of course he was tired. He'd been shot, he'd been in a coma. But he didn't have time to be tired, he had to help Jim. His mind protested as his body drifted into exhausted sleep. 

* * *

He'd been here forever. Here in this place full of hospital smells, and cold scratchy sheets, and food that tasted like old grease and nothing else. All of his senses... well, the ones that were left, spent all their time either spiking or nonexistent. Sometimes he'd wake up and the only way he'd know he was alive was his nose would be full of the smell of his own sweat, or his roommate's vomit. The sheets irritated his skin. The food upset his stomach. The smells... he didn't even want to go there. 

He didn't move much, even when he was awake and not sedated. At least the bed was familiar. At least when his skin itched, he knew that reality was still out there. At least when he was lying down, the hard mattress held him up, and the feeling that he was falling into a sea of nothingness would fade a little. But still, sometimes he felt like that bed was the only solid thing left in his world. He was becoming quite convinced that if he got up he would fall forever. 

So of course he fought anyone who tried to move him. He didn't know them. He didn't trust them. For all he knew, they would take his arm and lead him right off the edge of a building just for the fun of it. Those strange-smelling unknown people had never done anything for him except tie him down and stab him with needles that made his mind drift and made his senses wander until even his bed didn't seem solid anymore. Those damn drugs. Made it feel as though the whole world were floating along on a rough sea. 

All in all, that didn't really enhanced his opinion of them. 

Once, someone had come in to sit beside him. She (it had been a woman, he could tell) had pressed her hand against him, with her fingers wrapped into funny shapes, and placed objects in his hand, and stroked his arm in a phony sort of intimate way. None of it had made much sense to him, all the finger shapes felt the same anyway, especially with his sense of touch acting up. He'd finally gotten completely fed up and screamed "I'm not Helen fucking Keller!" 

And it was loud, cause he actually had very good volume control. There had been a wild flurry of activity in the room. He'd scared the shit, quite literally, out of his roommate. 

For the first time in ages, he had smiled. 

Anyway, that had been a long time ago, and the woman had never come back. Sometimes Simon came, but his visits were getting fewer and farther between. Jim settled into a routine. He refused to eat the disgusting food and spent all his waking hours laying on his bed, staring up sightlessly and reciting every litany he'd ever learned... name, rank, serial number, the Miranda rights, the Pledge of Allegiance, the Boy Scout Law, the first few lines of the Gettysburg Address and the Constitution. He never thought about Blair. Blair was gone. Thinking about him wouldn't do Jim any good at all. 

He waited patiently to die. 

* * *

"Stupid fucking leg!!!" 

Blair glared down at the offending appendage from where he had fallen to the mats in the physical therapy room. Simon sniffed, sounding a bit too amused for Blair's taste, and then came over and hauled Blair back up to his feet. He waited until Blair was balanced before stepping away. 

"Come on, Sandburg, show that leg who's boss." 

Blair turned his glare up from his leg and pinned it on Simon. 

"What, you think this is funny?" 

Simon held his hands up as though to ward him off. 

"No way, Detective. Not a chance." 

He sounded a bit too innocent. 

"Well, good, cause it's not funny. At all." 

Blair stood for a moment with his legs spread to stabilize himself, and then concentrated and more or less pushed his right foot forward. After it was a reasonable distance in front of him, he rallied himself ("Come on, Sandburg, you're just walking across a room. It's not brain surgery") and half lunged forward so the leg only had to hold his weight for a split second before his good left leg hit the floor again a little ahead of his body and took over the responsibility of weight bearing. Blair took a deep breath and then grinned. 

"One step!" 

After a moment to rest, he did it all over again. 

After way too many repetitions of that particular process, he reached the other side of the room. He was panting from the effort by that point, but he looked back at the distance he'd managed to cross and felt a surge of accomplishment. This was the first time he'd made it all the way across. 

"Nice work, kid. There's that Sandburg spirit I remember," Simon said, and Blair was surprised to see a huge triumphant grin on the Captain's face. He couldn't help but grin back as the older man handed his crutches back. 

"Not bad, huh?" 

"Not bad at all." 

It had been two weeks since Blair had first woken up. Naomi was long gone. She vanished like the mist at dawn almost as soon as the doctor had first started tossing around the phrase "physical therapy." Of course she had. She made her excuses, but Blair knew the truth. She couldn't handle adversity, couldn't handle seeing her perfect baby boy hurt and weak. He didn't really blame her for running away. He'd expected it. 

But what he hadn't expected was Simon. The big man had started visiting him almost every day. He'd been there when Blair had started physical therapy, and hadn't lost interest when it progressed at a painfully slow rate. Maybe he felt guilty. That would have made sense, but Blair didn't think that was quite what it was. Blair thought it had something to do with Jim. Simon was almost Jim's closest friend, after Blair himself, and Jim probably was Simon's closest friend. He undoubtedly knew how much Blair meant to him. So he was playing the role of Blessed Protector in Jim's place. 

Blair was incredibly grateful that someone was. 

"So, we're going to see Jim the minute I get busted out of here today, right?" 

Simon didn't say anything as they made their way out of the room and started down the hall to the desk. Blair tossed a grin to his favorite nurse as they passed, then said, "Come on, Simon. He needs me." 

Simon sighed. 

"Look, I know that, but you need to understand he's not doing too well. I doubt he'll even know it's you." 

"I don't care. And he'd know me anywhere, ok? I've gotta try. He's been in there for three weeks now, Simon. If we wait much longer it may be too late." 

Simon sighed deeply. 

"Sandburg... it probably already is." 

* * *

The air currents in the room changed like they always did when someone opened the door. Jim didn't really pay any attention, just continued his list of recitations in his head. 

_You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions._

He could feel the heat of two bodies in the room, but his sense of smell had been AWOL since that morning. Not that he cared which of his tormentors it was today. He just wanted them to do whatever they felt the need to do and leave. 

_Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law._

The people weren't moving. Probably having some conversation about what new and awful things they should do to him. 

_You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future._

One of the warm spots drew closer until they were right up next to his bed. His sense of touch was up high enough to get a pretty good heat image of the pair. One tall, the other shorter. 

_If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish._

The shorter figure reached out to him. 

_If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney._

A hand touched him. Touched his face. Fingers... warm and soft and oh-so-familiar. 

_Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?_

Suddenly, all of his three senses kicked in with a vengeance. From somewhere deep inside, a panther roared, and the sound, even imagined, was so loud in all the silence it startled him. His sense of smell was back, and the air around him practically danced with a scent. 

Blair. It was Blair. 

* * *

Simon stopped just inside the door. Blair suddenly became very still. Simon realized how the man must look to him. Jim was lying on top of the sheets, perfectly still, dressed in a hospital gown. 

"Oh man, Simon..." 

"He's been refusing to eat." 

Jim's eyes were open but glassy, like he was zoning on the ceiling. 

"Is he... is he conscious?" 

"Nominally. He's awake, but he doesn't really do anything but lie there. They've had a bunch of therapists in here to see him... he just doesn't respond to any of them." 

"I want to touch him, Simon. Let him know I'm here." 

Simon sighed again, but waved over at the bed. 

"Go ahead. I'm not going to stop you." 

Blair hesitated for a moment, then leaned over against the edge of the bed and raised one hand to lightly touch Jim's cheek. 

And, like magic, Jim came to life. He turned his head into the touch and spoke, in a perfectly quiet, controlled voice. 

"Blair..." 

Simon was so surprised he practically passed out, but Blair barely seemed phased. He just bent closer and stroked Jim's cheek with his thumb. 

"Hey, man. Heard you haven't been doing so well." 

Jim clearly couldn't understand Blair, but he seemed aware enough that Blair had spoken. 

"You're here..." he said, sounding almost reverent. 

Blair shifted his crutches, and pulled a small pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket. He peeled a sheet off of the pad, set it on the bed beside Jim and wrote, in large, block letters, "Hi Jim." Then, he took Jim's wrist and gently pulled his hand over to the paper, then ran his fingers gently up to Jim's, pressing them against the letters. 

A slight frown passed over Jim's face, and then suddenly, understanding blossomed. 

"Hi..." he said, and lifted his hand, bumping it against Blair's shirt and then sliding it up to his neck. He smiled, and ghosted his fingers gently over Blair's face. 

"Yep, see, it's me," Blair said. 

He stroked Jim's shoulder as Jim explored his facial features and then moved his hand over to the side of Blair's face, touching each of the earrings and then burying his hand in Blair's hair. After that, he seemed pretty content to just leave his hand there. 

Blair pulled another sheet off the pad. 

"Hear or see anything?" he wrote. The letters were slightly smaller than last time. 

He laid the paper on Jim's chest and pulled his other hand over to it. Simon watched in stunned amazement as Jim traced each letter carefully, his face tense with concentration. Experts had been trying to get Jim to do this kind of crap for three weeks. Naturally, Blair could walk in and do it in two seconds. 

Jim stopped at the end of the sentence and shook his head. 

"Nothing." 

The hand in Blair's hair folded a little and then relaxed again. Blair reached up to press his own palm over it for a second, before reaching for another sheet. 

"Scared?" 

Jim's hand went directly to the paper this time, without prompting from Blair. It only took him a second to read the word. He was still for a moment, and then he nodded. 

Blair was about to pull off yet another slip of paper, when Jim said, "Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

Jim must have sensed that Blair had responded somehow, because he answered. 

"Will you... hold me?" 

"Yeah, sure, man. Of course." 

Blair shifted his weight onto his good leg and rested his crutches against the railing of Jim's bed, then leaned forward as far as he could. He wrapped his right arm around Jim and rested his cheek on his chest. Jim carefully placed his hand on Blair's head and began to slowly stroke his hair. Blair just smiled and patted Jim's arm with his free hand. 

Simon took a few steps back and quietly left the room. 

* * *

Blair couldn't stand it. Three weeks. Jim had spent three weeks in this tiny room that stank of old sweat, waste, vomit and medicine. Three weeks lying motionless in this tiny bed, too terrified to move, surrounded by people he didn't recognize, unable to understand any form of communication. 

"God, Jim, I'm so sorry," he whispered, even though he knew the other man wouldn't understand him, "I'm so, so sorry. I should have come sooner, I should have..." 

He tightened his arm around his friend. Jim's body was cool beneath the cotton gown, his heartbeat thudded steadily under his ear. From his sideways vantage point, Blair could see the inside of Jim's right arm over the plain of his chest. All along the vein were needle tracks, and around his wrist, red marks where the skin had been rubbed raw. They'd restrained him. They'd fucking restrained him. 

Blair felt a surge of rage run through him that left his whole body quivering. The bastards. Those bastards. 

Jim must have felt the way his body tensed, because he said, "You ok, Chief?" 

The nickname caused a painful twinge in Blair's heart. He reached for the paper and pen without standing up and wrote, "They hurt you." 

Jim's fingers brushed lightly over the note and then went to Blair's shoulder, where he rested his hand gently. 

"I hurt them, first. I... got a little out of control for awhile." 

Blair reached up to lay his own hand on top of Jim's. Neither one of them spoke for a long time. They just held each other, absorbing one another's presence, slowly rebuilding the bonds that painful separation had torn apart. Finally, Blair stood up, giving Jim's hand a final reassuring pat to tell him he wasn't going anywhere. He wrote a quick message and handed it to Jim. 

"Going to write long message. 5 minutes or so." 

Jim read the message, then reached out to try to find Blair again, but instead, his hand hit Blair's crutches which were still leaning against the side of the bed. Blair held still. He'd hoped to explain all that to Jim first. Jim lifted his hand for a second, then lowered it again, slowly running it over the grip and down the wood. Blair could only watch helplessly as Jim's eyes widened in horror. 

"God, Sandburg... how bad is it?" 

Blair picked up the previous note that Jim had dropped and shoved it into his hand again, then set about writing. 

"Took a bullet to leg, have trouble walking, WILL BE OK. So will you. Think sight & hearing are dialed to 0 or something. Will fix it!!! Will also get you out of here ASAP, take you home. Promise." 

* * *

Simon stood up from the leather waiting room chair and glared down at the man in front of him. 

"Absolutely not, Sandburg. No way." 

"Oh come on, Simon! He's being mistreated here, for God's sake. It's not like I have anything else to do. He needs me, ok?" 

Simon huffed a sigh as the younger man met his gaze without blinking, his brow furrowed and his clear blue eyes blazing with passion. Granted, Blair had done wonders with Jim right away, but he could see that he had expectations that were totally out of the question. Simon hadn't even been too thrilled with the idea of Blair moving back into the loft alone. 

And this went beyond even that. 

"Blair, you can barely take care of yourself, you'd never be able to handle Jim the way he is now." 

That was the wrong thing to say. 

"Can't take care of myself?" Blair hopped back a few steps, then nearly dropped one of his crutches when he raised a hand to point accusingly at Simon. "You asshole. You complete asshole. What do you think I am? Some kind of child who needs his hand held all the time? God, Simon, is that how you see me? Am I such a burden on you? Damn it, I didn't ask for your help, ok? I was under the impression you were a volunteer. I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced you! I apologize for that bullet missing my heart! Excuse me for living!" 

Blair turned as quickly as he could and started to head back down the hall to Jim's room, but Simon caught his arm and hauled him to a stop. Blair practically snarled over his shoulder. 

"Damn it, Blair, that's not what I meant. I just meant... you haven't seen him at his worst. He lashes out at people, and he's done some serious damage, ok?" 

As he spoke, Blair's expression softened, and then he turned back around. 

"I don't care, Simon. I can handle him. I've been handling him for years. That's what I do. That's my job, ok? This is all about the Sentinel thing. He needs me, he needs his guide, otherwise he's never going to get any better." 

_Had to play the Sentinel card, didn't he?_ Simon thought, but he couldn't come up with anything to counter it with. 

"Fine, Sandburg. But I still don't think its a good idea." 

* * *

Jim turned his face towards the door when he felt it open. His senses were more or less under control, so it was easy to dial up and smell Blair without also getting a dose of all the ambient stench of the place. He smiled as he sensed his partner drawing close to his bed and rummaging around. A moment later, a note hit his chest and he reached for it eagerly. It amazed him what a joy such a simple thing was. It was just a few words, but it was so much more. It was communication. Connection with another person. Something he hadn't managed to have in weeks on a more than one-way basis. 

He traced the indentations, s... i.. t... u... p...? 

Sit up? Oh god, no. No, no, no. He knew what would come next. Standing would come next. No way. 

He shook his head violently. "No." 

He felt the slight breeze of Blair's sigh, and then his hand on Jim's shoulder. Blair gave him a soothing squeeze. 

Another note fluttered down onto Jim's chest. 

t... r... u... s... t... m... e... 

He paused. Blair's hand squeezed his shoulder again. Jim stared into the darkness. Ok. He was tough. He'd been in covert ops. He was a cop. He could do this. Blair was right beside him. Blair he knew, would never ever lead him astray. Blair had led him before when he'd been blind. Once, during the whole Golden fiasco, and then, through all of this Sentinel stuff. Blair was his lifeline. 

He carefully pulled his arms back and slowly, slowly he sat up. Even being careful, though, the movement felt terrifyingly fast. The air practically rushed over his face. He froze about halfway up, embarrassed to realize he was breathing fast. Blair's hand was still on him, a comforting link to reality. He forced himself to take deep breaths, and focused on Blair's touch, then sat the rest of the way up. 

Instantly, a wave of vertigo hit him. He hadn't sat up in so long, he felt dizzy. He had no way of knowing how much of the spinning was just in his head, and how much of it was real. The whole world seemed to be tumbling around him, and he lost all sense of direction. 

He panicked, flinging his hands out in a desperate search of something, anything, solid and stable. His right hand hit something and he grasped around with it until he got a hold. Only then did he realize he was holding Blair's shirt. 

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders suddenly, and all of the balance he'd managed to regain vanished in an instant as the strong grip jostled him. He barely even realized what he was doing when he screamed, "Get off me!" and shoved, as hard as he could. And then, the hands were gone and he really was falling. He hit the hard concrete of the floor completely unprepared, taking all of the impact with his shoulder and his hip. His sense of touch had been dialed up high, and the impact sent stars of pain jarring through all his bones. 

He felt his vocal cords vibrate in a long whimper and just slumped against the cold surface beneath him. At least it was solid. 

Above him, he could feel the vibrations of voices shouting. He had no idea what they were saying, but they seemed loud. 

* * *

"Damn it, Simon!" 

"What did I tell you? You see what he does?" 

"Well, of course he does! I mean, you could tell he wasn't oriented yet! That must have felt like an earthquake to him. You can't just grab a blind person with no warning like that! Oh for crying out loud, help him up at least! Jesus!" 

Blair could tell Simon was about to continued the argument, but he couldn't stand to see Jim down there another second, helpless. He dropped his crutches abruptly, too fast for him to have time to adjust and his leg gave out under him and he fell, just barely getting his hands around in time to stop himself from hitting the floor face first. He ignored Simon's shocked shout, pulled his uncooperative leg under him and scooted over to Jim. He suddenly realized he couldn't reach his paper. 

_Improvise, Blair, improvise!_ His brain raced in a way it hadn't needed to in weeks. And then, inspiration struck. He gently took Jim's hand and rested it on his knee, and then, with one finger, he began to gently, rhythmically tap it. 

Two short taps, one long tap, a long pause, and then, three long taps, a short pause, a long tap, a short tap and a long tap. Then he repeated the sequence. 

* * *

Jim's brain flashed with sudden recognition. Morse code! 

//u ok// was the message. A question, he assumed. 

"Yeah," he said, "I'm ok." 

//good// was Blair's reply. //up// 

Jim groaned. No, he didn't want to try again. Look at where the first attempt had gotten him. 

//on floor cant fall more// 

Well. That was a good point. He couldn't fall any farther. 

//if i can you can// 

"Fine, Sandburg, fine. Back off." 

He got his arms under him again, feeling the gritty floor cold beneath his palms, and sat up. There, that wasn't so bad. The floor felt solid and comforting beneath him. 

//good// was tapped against his hand again. //up// 

"You can be a real pain in the ass, you know that?" Jim grumbled, but he carefully reached out to hold onto the bed and then stood up. Wow... he felt high in the air. He felt... unstable. 

"Don't touch me. No one touch me." 

He pushed his feet a bit further apart for stability and stood as still as he could, slowly getting his bearings, adapting to the feeling of being on his feet after so long flat on his back. It actually felt kind of good to be standing, feeling his muscles work after way too long. Finally he felt stable enough to allow contact. 

"Ok. I'm good. I'm ok." 

He felt the bar of the bed he was holding rattle, and felt the air stir in front of him. Blair, he guessed, trying to stand up. He braced his feet firmly and held out his hand. A moment later, Blair's hand was in his. First, Blair gave a gentle tug, and Jim tightened his grip. 

"I got you. Go ahead." 

Then Blair put some serious weight on his arm. For a moment, Jim staggered and was sure they were both going to end up right back on the floor, and then, somehow, he and Blair were standing, leaning against each other and wavering a little. The warmth of his guide's body felt so good against him, like it had in that warehouse when he'd first been plunged into this world. He wrapped his arms around the other man suddenly, holding him close. After a brief hesitation, Blair's arms were around him too, and they held each other. 

"God, Sandburg," he said into his partner's scalp, "I missed you so much." 

Blair squeezed him gently , then his finger tapped against Jim's shoulder. 

//u 2// 

* * *

They had a few hours together, alone, before Simon would come back. He'd dropped them off at the loft and then left, saying he had to do some things down at the station, and he'd be back. Once Jim had gotten into the loft, he'd seemed immediately more at ease. This place had been his home for years, with very few changes to the basic layout. Blair guessed that the man probably had a pretty good feel for where everything was. In fact, he was moving around the room with much more skill than he'd even possessed during the Golden incident. 

Blair just watched as Jim made a careful circuit of the downstairs area. Checking his boundaries, reaffirming his territory. The sight made Blair smile. Jim started at the door and began following the wall to his right, trailing his fingers first over the wall, then over the counter in the kitchen. His steps were small and careful, but he stopped well before he ran into anything. His sense of touch must have been dialed up very high, to feel the cushion of air around all the objects and walls in the room. He was doing well even without guidance. 

Then, he reached the base of the stairs up to his room. He kept his hand on the railing and walked around it, then raised his foot to the first step. Blair froze. Oh no, no way. He realized too late he had no way of getting Jim's attention over a long distance. He grabbed the closest soft object on hand, a couch pillow, and threw it across the room. 

Jim actually staggered back against the wall at the unexpected impact. He spun towards Blair, almost growling at him, and shouted, "What the hell?" 

Blair moved quickly over to Jim and touched his hand, lightly, to let him know he was there, and then grabbed it and pulled it towards him. 

//no stairs// he tapped firmly. 

Jim scowled. 

"Fuck you, Sandburg, I've been in that hospital for three weeks. I'm sleeping in my own bed." 

And with that, he started up the stairs. 

"Jim!" Blair yelled after him, but Jim didn't react. Blair felt a surge of fear. Jim was completely out of his reach. Even though part of him was rejoicing that Jim's personality was still intact, the rest of him was panicking. Anything could happen up there, and Blair would be helpless. He couldn't climb stairs without a great deal of difficulty. 

"Jim..." he said again, but the man was already at the top of the stairs and vanishing into the loft. Blair could do nothing but shove his fears aside and hope against hope that Jim made it back down ok. 

"You idiot!" he shouted, even though he knew the comment would fall, quite literally, on deaf ears. 

He headed for the kitchen, hoping that cooking would help calm his nerves. But still, even as he dug out a box of pasta and heated water, he kept his ears tuned to the man above him. And his heart wouldn't stop pounding. 

* * *

It amazed Jim how well he could "see" things here. The moment he'd set foot in the loft, he'd felt his body suddenly and totally relax, as though some tightly coiled spring inside of him had abruptly unwound. The feeling of the air, the scents, all of it felt like home. He worked his way around the edges of his domain, and then headed up to his bedroom, growling something about sleeping in his own bed at Sandburg. 

He could smell Blair's fear as he climbed the stairs, but he ignored it. He could handle some stairs, for heaven's sake. There was a railing. He was feeling safe and confident in a way he hadn't in weeks. 

He walked over to his bed. He could sense it before he reached it, the way the air curved around it. The only thing he couldn't really feel this way was the railing, but he could feel the edge, where a slight updraft rose from the level below. That was the only thing that worried him. He decided he would stay well back from the edge and the invisible barrier. 

He reached down until his fingers touched the edge of the bed and then he eased his body forward onto it. The cool, soft comforter felt so good to him after the scratchy hospital sheets. He stretched his body out over the cradling softness, and suddenly realized how exhausted his was from just the day's simple activities. Within seconds, he was asleep. 

* * *

Simon returned as promised, and retrieved Jim from upstairs after berating Blair for letting him up there in the first place. They ate dinner together and then moved to the living room. Blair got Jim settled on the couch, then ducked into his own room for a minute. He returned holding a novel. Simon couldn't quite see the title and author. 

He stopped in front of the couch and moved over to it. As soon as he was on the cushions, Jim scooted over right next to him. Simon watched the pair silently as Blair laid the book open on Jim's knee and gently guided his hand over to it. He tapped something on Jim's arm and Jim looked up at him sharply, even though he couldn't see him. Blair just grinned and tapped his arm a few more times. Jim raised his eyebrows, was still for a moment, and then nodded and ran his hand over the words on the page. He smiled, and Blair smiled back, a grin that practically glowed with joy. The warm affection between the two men was almost tangible as Blair rubbed Jim's shoulder and leaned a little closer, watching Jim's fingers trace the lines of text. 

They were sitting flush against each other, Sandburg's head so close to Jim's, his hair was probably tickling the older man's nose. It occurred to Simon that they were sitting a lot closer than your average male buddies, and for the first time, Simon really wondered if the rumors going around the station were true. 

Jim always did touch the kid a lot. A hell of a lot more than he touched anyone else, that's for sure. And... well, Jim and Blair were more than just roommates. They didn't just live in the same place, they lived _together._ Worked together, vacationed together, hung around and did nothing together. Hell, they were more like a couple than half the married people Simon knew. Jim and Carolyn had never been that close. 

At that moment, both Jim and Blair suddenly laughed softly, and Jim's hand slid up Blair's back to gently ruffle his hair. Simon felt like he was intruding. 

"You're such an asshole," Jim said, breaking the near-silence, and Blair just laughed again, punching the shoulder his hand had been resting on, then rapidly tapping something there with one finger. Jim snorted, then said, "Yeah," softly, and went back to trailing his fingers over the page, and Blair turned to Simon. 

"Sorry, man, you said you needed to talk to me?" 

"Uh... Yeah. I... What was all that?" 

"Oh. Jim can feel printed letters. I was just kinda, uh, doing my thing and reminding him. Figured he was probably pretty starved for entertainment." 

"Oh. Right." Crap. Sentinel stuff. Simon hated all that Sentinel stuff. "Anyway. I didn't want to bring this down on you while you were still, uh, not all the way on your feet, so to speak, but... now that you're both here..." 

Blair tensed, suspicion painted across his face. Beside him, Jim stopped 'reading' the book and glanced at him again. 

"Yeah?" Blair said. 

"IA investigated the incident in the warehouse. They concluded that nothing happened, but... they disregarded some evidence I wouldn't have ignored. Here's the report. It may just be paranoia, but you might want to watch your backs. Just in case." 

Blair inhaled slowly and reached out to take the folder from Simon's hands. He held it, resting against his thighs, but didn't make a move to open it. He stared at it though. 

"Right," he said softly, "Sure thing, Simon. I was kinda hoping it wouldn't..." 

His shoulders slumped, and Jim frowned. 

"What? What's going on?" 

Blair tapped his arm again then reached for the pad of paper and pen on the coffee table and began to write. 

* * *

Blair had left shortly after Simon on a quest to get groceries and a few other necessities. Jim had sworn he didn't have a problem with it, and he didn't. Not really. In fact, it was thrilling to feel the whumph of air when the door closed and realize he was alone. On his own. He felt human again. And he felt at home. He made a circuit of the loft again, touching things in the kitchen, feeling the residual heat from the cooling stove, smelling traces of their dinner and Blair. 

When he reached the bathroom, he walked inside. Blair had arranged everything he would need for a shower, and Jim felt almost ridiculously pleased that he trusted him to be able to shower alone. For the past three weeks, everyone had been treating him like some kind of infant, not letting him so much as eat on his own. People seemed to assume that just because he couldn't understand them, he must be an idiot. But not Blair. Jim smiled and touched the neatly folded pile of clean clothes Blair had left on the edge of the sink to replace the sweat pants and scrubs top they'd found for him to wear at the hospital, and then the towel on the rack. 

He let the water warm up for a few minutes and then stepped into the spray. It was heaven. He could have purred. 

He stayed in the shower until it ran completely cold, first scrubbing off the grime a cursory sponge bath could never remove, and then just standing and letting the water flow over him. 

Finally he had to get out or risk freezing to death, so he dried off and dressed, and ended up back on the couch. 

Once he was settled, he drew in a breath, and then rocked forward and swept his hand over the table until it hit the paper that Blair had handed him before he left. Jim slumped back against the cushions and dragged his fingers over Blair's scrawled letters. He didn't really want to think about it. Not now, not when he felt so totally helpless. Not when Blair was so vulnerable. Of course, just because he didn't want to think about something didn't make it go away. 

Someone may have set them up. Someone in the PD. 

He laid the paper on the seat beside him and smoothed it flat, then leaned forward again, searching with his hands for the folder that Blair had left for him. He found it and began to scan through the pages. It was slow going, even if he could feel the printed letters clearly beneath his fingers, it wasn't nearly as easy or quick as glancing over the text. 

The report didn't sound good. Back-up was late, the bad guys knew exactly when they would arrive, everything looked suspicious. Unfortunately, IA hadn't been able to find anything more than circumstantial evidence to indicate any wrong doing, and whoever had been responsible, if anyone, had done a good job of covering their tracks. Still. Jim wouldn't really be all that surprised if someone was out to get him or Blair, so the report sent a chill through him. 

He wished Blair would come home soon, and reached over to the table beside the couch for the open-faced clock Blair had dug up for him. He touched the hands as lightly as he could, then pulled his hand away and touched the clock again. That couldn't be right. If that was right, Blair was half an hour late. He must have gotten more absorbed in that file than he thought. 

Jim tried to tell himself that it was just Blair, Blair was always late, but he was just going out for groceries, for crying out loud. And Blair should have known Jim would be a little on edge. He wouldn't be late today. 

Jim stood up and began to pace back and forth across the living room. Then, he stumbled over the coffee table and fell, luckily landing on the couch. For a moment, he just lay there. Then he leapt back up to his feet and headed to the door. 

As soon as he was outside of the loft in the hall, he lost part of his self-assurance. The sense of home was gone, and the cushions of air around the walls didn't seem quite as defined. He stretched one hand out to his side until it touched the wall, and then, using that to anchor himself, he slowly walked down the hall to the stairs, and cautiously, one step at a time, made his way down to the lobby, and then over to the door that lead out of 852 Prospect. 

He braced his palm against the door and stopped, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that this was Blair. He had to go find Blair. Granted, he didn't have much of a plan of attack. He didn't even know where exactly Blair was. But he had to find him. He could be in trouble. With this in mind, he pushed the door open and stepped outside. 

Instantly, he lost all of his bearings. A freezing cold wind wrapped around him, tore past him, playing hell with the careful observances of air currents that had been helping him navigate. Jim froze. The world disappeared around him. There was nothing in all the universe except for a racing torrent of air, scents flying past, there were no buildings, no people. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight the panic. _Relax, relax, the building is right beside you, just reach out and you'll feel the door._

But he couldn't even move. He felt dizzy, like he might fall, since the wind made him feel as though it was him moving, not the air. And then, like an explosion, someone collided with him. In reality, maybe they only brushed past his arm, but in his world, with no frame of reference, just that slight shifting of his center of balance was enough to send him tumbling. He only fell about six inches before his shoulder hit the wall, the fabric of his sleeve dragging over brick. 

He might have stayed there the rest of the night, but then, a hand touched his arm, brought back to stable ground. And then, another hand came and tapped his wrist. 

//follow me// 

Jim felt his hand being guided to the sleeve of Blair's jacket, and then Blair gently lead him back inside. 

* * *

Jim didn't say anything as they got back inside the loft. He let go of Blair's sleeve and started to walk away, but Blair grabbed his wrist, firmly, and he stopped, and stood, motionless, his jaw set. 

Blair got right to the point. 

//why// he tapped. 

Jim hung his head. 

Blair was tired. They'd change the bus schedule and closed service to one of the stops he usually used. He'd had to walk two blocks with his shopping bags to find another stop, and he'd already had a long day. His left leg was aching and the bullet wound in his right leg was throbbing. He really just wanted to collapse in his bed and sleep. 

"You were late," Jim said quietly. "I was worried." 

Blair slumped on his crutches, annoyed, but touched at the same time. 

//dont do that// 

Jim tugged his hand free gently and turned to face Blair. 

"I know, I know. It was stupid. I wasn't thinking." 

That surprised Blair. Not often did his Sentinel admit he was wrong. 

That's when he noticed Jim was shaking. 

"Aw, God, Jim," he said. He set his crutches against the door and touched Jim's sides gently with his hands before all but falling against him and clasping his arms around Jim's back. He could feel Jim's body shivering against his own and whispered that it was ok. In seconds, Blair felt Jim relax into his embrace and bring his own arms up around Blair's shoulders. 

A few moments after that, Jim's hands suddenly became less passive, gliding up and down Blair's back with just enough pressure to be felt. Blair rested his weight on Jim and let him feel. 

Jim's hands meandered slowly back up his back, circled around his shoulders and then glided down his arms to briefly cup his elbows and squeeze gently. He released Blair's elbows quickly and moved his hands down to Blair's flanks, stroking downward to his hips, where his hands rested a moment, pressing into Blair's jeans, holding him firmly against him. And then, Jim dipped his head down and inhaled deeply, turning his face 'til his nose was flush against the side of Blair's head. 

He's _sniffing_ me, Blair realized with a shock. The thought sent a strange shiver down his spine. 

Jim nuzzled his face a little closer and breathed in again, then bent his head down more, 'til his nose touched the bare skin of Blair's neck. Almost involuntarily, Blair tilted his head back to give him better access. The Sentinel grunted his approval and continued to sniff, tracing an arc down Blair's neck and under his chin. 

That feeling was back, that full-body tingle. Then, he felt the first tentative hint of Jim's tongue, soft as a butterfly lighting gently on his throat. 

The paradigm shift was so sudden and so powerful it was as though someone had yanked the floor out from under his feet. _Oh my god,_ Blair thought, _I want him._

* * *

Jim froze when Blair pulled away, and all he could think was, oh shit, I went too far. Then he realized Blair hadn't let go of him. He was just standing there in his arms, motionless. His body was warm and tempting and when he didn't make any attempt to move again, Jim leaned forward, intending to start back where he'd left off, cataloging the scent, the feeling, the taste of his guide. But then, one of Blair's hands left his back, caught his chin between loose fingers, and stayed him. 

The arm around his back tightened and what little space there had been left between their bodies vanished. He was just thinking how nice it was to be held like that, how much he liked feeling Blair's whole body pressed against his, when the tentative touch of cool dry lips sent his train of thought plunging off its tracks. 

Blair was kissing him. 

A tiny whimper caught in the back of his throat. He didn't move, he held perfectly still, almost afraid that the slightest motion would send his partner running for the hills. He didn't realize how his stillness could be misinterpreted until Blair pulled away fast, like he'd been burned, hopping back a few paces out of arm's reach. 

"No!" Jim shouted, then winced when he realized how loud it must have been. He lowered his voice and held out his hand towards the pool of warmth he knew must be Blair. "Blair..." 

He couldn't tell what Blair was doing, but he knew he wasn't coming any closer. On the other hand, he also wasn't getting any further away. Jim took a few steps towards him and stopped when his fingers touched the rough stubble on Blair's cheek. 

"Blair," he said again, because couldn't think of anything else he wanted to say. And then he took one more step and leaned in, closing his eyes even though he couldn't see anyway, and returned the kiss, softly, lightly, only touching Blair with the one hand that was cupping his cheek. The feeling of the other man responding, stepping into the kiss, opening his mouth below Jim's, grasping his hips to pull him closer, just ripped through him, tearing down his walls, flooding his shadowed soul for one eternal moment with a blazing bright light, and in seconds the fragile kiss shattered into passionate desperation, both of them clinging to one another, pushing against one another, almost like fighting, but so different, they were all but breathing each other, pulling apart for mere milliseconds at a time, just long enough so that they could come back together again. 

When it finally ended they held each other, panting. Jim could feel Blair's heart beating. He forced himself to draw in a long deep breath then lowered his head, resting his cheek against the top of Blair's head and standing there, trying to process what had just happened. 

He sighed softly and moved his head slightly, rubbing his cheek against the silky hair beneath it and reveling in the sensation. For a moment, he was practically grateful that he couldn't see or hear; otherwise, he had a feeling Blair would want to talk this to death. And he didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted it to be. 

He made a soft disappointed sound when Blair pulled away. He felt the air currents as Blair grabbed his crutches from where he'd propped them against the door, and then the increasingly familiar feeling of Blair's index finger tapping against his wrist. 

//couch// 

And then Blair moved away in the direction of the living room. Jim followed, feeling slightly dazed and a little dizzy, in a very good way. 

He curled up against Blair's side on the couch, his chin resting on his shoulder, his face tucked up next to Blair's. He breathed his guide's scent and knew that it was ok. That he could do that now. Blair's arm was around his back, and his hand stroked his arm, just above his elbow. He could feel the gentle vibrations of Blair whispering, his lips moving against the hair just above Jim's ear. Jim felt safe. And he wanted more. 

He moved back the slightest bit, just enough to be able to turn his head and get his lips on the smooth skin of Blair's neck. Prickly strands of hair tickled his nose and that sent another white-hot flare of joy through him. He moved his hand from Blair's knee to his abdomen, running it slowly back and forth over the flat plane of muscle there. The hand that had been stroking his arm stilled, and then clenched a fistful of his sleeve. He knew Blair was breathing faster from the increasing pace of the puffs of warm moist air over his ear. He pushed his face deeper into the curve between Blair's neck and shoulder, and sucked wetly at the skin there. Once he'd gotten the area good and wet, thoroughly tasted, he whispered against the damp flesh. 

"Love you, Chief." 

Blair pulled away then, and, after a brief pause, he placed a chaste kiss on Jim's forehead, picked up something from the coffee table and began to write. Jim sat up straighter, acutely aware of the cool air in the loft swirling around him and how little contact there suddenly was between him and the other man. Except for Blair's elbow that kept bumping him as he wrote, they were completely separated... a far cry from the full body contact they'd had only moments ago. Jim felt the cold hand of dread close around his heart as Blair laid the slip of notebook paper on his knee. 

"Jim, I love you too. But this is too fast. Too much. We had a long day. We're tired. Should go to bed. Can we talk in the morning?" 

Blair's hand curved around his cheek as he finished reading the last words, softening the impact of the note. Jim didn't know what to say. Blair squeezed his shoulder, then dropped his hand away to write something else. 

"Not rejecting you, Jim. Just need to slow down." 

Even as Jim read this note, Blair was writing the next one, and it landed on his knee as soon as he was finished. 

"And I'm tired. Need any help getting ready for bed?" 

Jim smiled into the darkness, then groped around until he found Blair's hand to clasp. With those crutches, he knew that Blair would have enough trouble getting through his nighttime rituals as it was, without Jim adding to his troubles. 

"Nah, I got it." 

OK, Blair tapped with his free hand, and then Jim felt him struggle to his feet and get his crutches situated under him. He took one step towards the bathroom, then stopped. Jim turned his face towards him and immediately Blair's hand caught his chin again, cool fingers skating over the sensitive skin of his throat. Jim looked up and just waited for what he knew would come: the light breeze as Blair bent down, the sweep of curls over his cheek and then, the soft pressure of Blair's lips on his. The kiss was brief but powerful, like a confirmation that it was all real, it had actually happened. 

Jim's heart ached as Blair pulled back one more time and faded away, leaving behind only lingering traces of his scent in the air and his taste on Jim's lips. 

* * *

Blair woke up inspired the next morning, convinced he knew what was wrong with Jim and exactly how to fix it. He let the positive energy of his breakthrough carry him through his morning routine, made more complicated by his crutches, and he even had energy left over to cook breakfast. 

It was probably the smell of eggs and coffee that brought Jim down the stairs. He had changed into the black boxers he preferred to sleep in, and nothing else. Blair felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched him feel his way carefully across the living room. He was beautiful. Morning sunlight streamed through the balcony doors and all but melted over the man's body. 

Blair realized he was staring when Jim stopped next to the table and stood, waiting. He shook himself and snapped his mouth shut, focusing his attention on dishing out the food on to two plates. 

He pushed one of the plates towards Jim, but he didn't react, just continued to stand stoically next to the table. For a horrifying second, Blair was afraid he'd zoned, and he had no idea how he'd be able to bring him back. But then Jim did move, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, and Blair realized he just hadn't noticed the plate in front of him. He set down his own plate and made his way around the table, gently touching Jim's arm, then reaching down to take Jim's wrist and guide his had to the edge of the plate. Jim nodded, then pulled out the chair and sat down. Once he was settled, he ran his fingers around the edge of the plate, then felt around the table top until he'd located his fork. 

Blair wanted to kiss him, just a quick kiss, on the top of his head maybe. For a moment, the urge was almost overpowering. But then he lost his nerve and just walked quietly back to his own chair. In the light of day, last night seemed like a dream. It seemed almost ridiculous. A reaction to stress, at best. Knowing Jim, they'd never mention it again, they'd just move on with their lives as though nothing had happened. And maybe, Blair thought, that would be all for the best. 

Still, it would be nice... 

He shook his head and focused on eating, ignoring the tightness in his throat and the sting in his eyes. 

They made it through the rest of their morning routine without a comment, and eventually, Jim came back to the living room, showered and dressed. Blair was waiting on the couch, with a sheet of paper covered with a handwritten note, which he handed to Jim when he joined him. 

He waited in almost nervous anticipation as he watched Jim's long fingers skim over the text. 

"Jim, think I know what's wrong. Every human has limits, a certain point beyond which irrevocable damage is done, ie if you look directly into the sun, you go blind. If you stand to close to an explosion, you go deaf. 

"The problem here is you see and hear way better than your average human. But, unconsciously, you still think you have the same limits. So, with those bright lights, and your vision turned up so high, it was like looking into the sun in terms of the amount of visual input your brain was receiving. 

"But see, what makes us go blind is not what we actually see, but the physical amount of light entering our eyes. Those lights were bright, but they weren't really enough to physically damage your retinas. If they had been, then I'd be blind now, too. So essentially, you can't see because your subconscious believes_ that you can't. It's like a surge protector. So you have to convince it that you _can. 

"Normally, I'd guide you through the meditation, but obviously, that won't work in this situation. You'd need to be able to hear my voice. So you're going to have to go it alone. I know you can do it, you've always been incredibly good at things like this. You just have to trust me, and trust yourself. Go inside yourself and find a way to reset your circuit breakers." 

Jim read the note over twice, then looked up, staring across the loft at nothing. He looked incredulous, but he seemed willing to try it. 

"Ok, Sandburg, what do I do?" 

Blair had been anticipating this question, and already had the answer written down. He passed the note over to Jim and then turned his body so he was sitting cross-legged on the couch facing him. Jim read this note, twice, like the last one, and then leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes and drawing in long, slow breaths. Blair watched with approval as the tension drained out of the body beside him and Jim's face began to relax. 

He felt the need to say something, so he began a quiet litany of encouragement even though he knew the other man couldn't hear him. 

"That's it, Jim, nice deep breaths, just let it all out..." 

* * *

It was almost as though he could hear Blair's voice as Jim relaxed back against the couch cushions, "Breathe in, nice and slow, hold it, breathe out. Let all that tension go..." 

He felt himself slip into a fuzzy haze, like he was floating in a deep pool of lukewarm water, just drifting where the current pushed him. Then, suddenly, he felt solid earth beneath his feet, felt a cold angry wind whipping around him. 

For a moment, he thought something had jolted him out of his meditative state, but then he realized he could see and hear. And he recognized this place. It was the jungle he often found himself wandering through in his dreams, only now it was in turmoil, the foliage being tossed and torn by the screaming wind, the usual warm sunlight replaced by frigid darkness. 

He was suffused with a sense of disorientation and fear, and suddenly broke into a run, searching the chaos around him for something... something, but he didn't know what exactly. He pushed himself harder, ran faster, he could feel the burn in his muscles, the cramp in his side but he kept running until suddenly, his foot caught on something, a downed log maybe, and he fell, hard. 

He scrambled to his feet, chest heaving from exertion and panic, and shot a wild look around the dark jungle that surrounded him. Too dark. He could see nothing more than a few feet into the jungle around him. He was lost. Casting out his hearing, he heard only the wind. 

"What do I do?" he shouted into the wind, "Where do I go? Someone answer me!" 

From somewhere within, he heard the echo of words Incacha had spoken to him long ago. 

"If there is darkness, then you must face it. The darkness will flee from the light. But the light must shine from within. I cannot bring it to you." 

Jim spun in a tight circle, trying to find the man who had spoken those words. 

"I don't understand! Damn it, how do I find it?" 

But his only answer was the howl of the wind. 

* * *

Blair's hopes for a quick resolution evaporated when Jim sat up suddenly, choking and gasping as though he couldn't get enough air. Jim flung his hands out around him and one of them hit Blair's chest, and instantly clenched into a tight fist around a handful of his shirt. Before he could even react, Blair found himself being hauled over against Jim who clasped him to his chest like a drowning man might cling to a life preserver. 

Jim panted harshly into Blair's hair as he held him. Blair tugged his arms free from between them and wrapped them around Jim's back holding him equally tightly and murmuring reassurances he knew would go unheard. 

It took him a moment to realize that Jim's gasps had changed to words. 

"I can't do it. I can't. I don't know _how_." 

Blair waited for him to calm down before he gently disengaged himself from Jim's arms and tapped //can// against his wrist. 

Jim shook his head, almost sadly, but he didn't say anymore. 

Blair grabbed a pad of paper and started to write, trying to find out what exactly had gone wrong. He'd only managed a few lines when Jim's hand closed firmly over his and lifted it, pen and all, off the page. Blair looked up, confused, but the expression on Jim's face was unreadable. 

Jim plucked the pen out of his grip with a soft tug, and tossed it over towards the coffee table, then engulfed Blair's hand in both of his own. 

"Blair, stop. You said we'd talk in the morning. So let's talk. We can worry about the Sentinel stuff later. This is more important." 

Blair was stunned. 

Jim wasn't going to ignore it. He wasn't going to pretend it didn't happen. Jim was actively encouraging this discussion. And then, just in case Blair wasn't already in cardiac arrest, Jim raised the hand he held to his lips, nuzzled it, and turned it over to place a soft kiss in the center of his palm. He must have been able to feel the way Blair's pulse sped up. 

And then there was a knock at the door. Blair ignored it. Jim seemed entirely unaware of the intrusion and began to follow the lines on Blair's palm with the very tip of his tongue. Heart line, head line, life line. He didn't let up until he'd covered every crease he could find, some even Blair didn't have names for. 

Suddenly, the room was uncomfortably warm. His blood began to pool in his groin. 

Once Jim had finished with this unorthodox palm reading, he moved on to tracing the outline of Blair's hand with his tongue. He started up one side, up the outside edge of the thumb, then a quick lick to the very tip of the digit before gliding down the inside edge to the webbing at the base. He paused there to suck on the flexible skin, then raced up the side of Blair's index finger and, when he reached the top, leaned forward ever so slightly to suck the finger into his mouth down to the first joint, his tongue circling round the nail. 

Blair couldn't stop a deep groan. His cock was rock hard, straining against his pants, slick precome gathering at the tip. He could feel a drop of it working its way down his length. When Jim firmly sucked his index finger the rest of the way into his mouth, Blair rolled his head back and stared up at the distant ceiling, struggling just to breath. Hell, in a few seconds, Jim was going to make him come in his pants... 

Someone kicked the door in. 

* * *

At first, Jim thought it was something he'd done. But it only took a moment to realize there was probably some other reason Blair had suddenly lunged to his feet. The air currents in the room were chaotic, and there was more than one set of footsteps moving rapidly over the hardwood floor, sending vibrations up through the couch. 

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the struggle ended. 

In the sudden quiet, Jim held still, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. A familiar scent reached him. A sharp, chemical scent mingled with a subtle overlay of lavender and chloroform. Shit. 

Jim lunged for the phone. 

It worked. The source of the scent began moving away from his partner, heading straight towards the couch. Moments before he reached him, Jim dropped the phone and spun around, half leaping to his feet and grasping the invader around his midsection, knocking them both to the floor. The impact forced his breath out of him and took away his bearings. He could smell the sickly sweet chemical, too close for comfort, and he pulled back, only managing to hit his head, hard, against the edge of the coffee table. 

The other man took advantage of his momentary weakness and rolled them over, trapping Jim beneath him and pressing the chemical-soaked cloth over his nose and mouth. Jim was still trying to get his breath back and couldn't stop himself from inhaling. Almost instantly, he felt an artificial lassitude settle over him. He struggled briefly and then slumped against the floor, the willpower to fight gone. The world seemed to tilt beneath him and oblivion claimed him. 

* * *

The instant Blair felt the cloth against his face, he stopped breathing. For a moment, he struggled against the restraining arms and then let himself go limp. The assailant dropped him to the floor with no regard to gentleness and Blair landed across one of his crutches. It took all his will power not to wince as the hard wood bruised his side. He lay still as the man knelt over him. 'Come on, Jim,' he thought, 'give me an opening here.' 

And a moment later, Jim did. The man jumped up and left Blair. As soon as he heard the sounds of a struggle, Blair grabbed the crutch under him and scrabbled around the other side of the nearest couch. He heard the two fighting men hit the floor as he sat up against the back of the couch and braced the opposite end of the crutch just in front of the leg of the kitchen table opposite him. 

When the living room became too quiet a moment later, Blair lifted the end of the crutch and let it fall back to the floor, rapping sharply against the wood. He took a deep slow breath and listened as the heavy footsteps quickly crossed the living room and began to make the turn around the couch. He waited until the last possible moment, and suddenly lifted the crutch, keeping it braced against the table leg. 

The invader walked right into the trap. The crutch hit him mid-shin and he went sprawling to the floor right in front of Blair. 

Blair pounced, pressing his knee into the small of the man's back and then dragging the man's arms around behind his back and lacing them through the crutch between the arm rest and the first crossbar, effectively restraining him. 

Not moving from his post on the man's back, he grabbed the phone and called Simon. 

* * *

When Simon had arrived at the scene, all he could do was shake his head. Jim was beginning to stir awake on the living room rug and Blair was sitting on the perp, who he had restrained with one of his crutches, of all things. He should have known better than to ever imply these two couldn't take care of themselves. But then, being the trouble magnets they were, he supposed it was a skill they just had to develop to survive. 

He'd stuck around at the loft long enough for Ellison to work his way fully back to awareness, helping Blair fend off the EMTs, since a trip to the hospital was the last thing Jim needed, and then he gave them both a lift to the station to give their statements. 

In the few hours they'd been at the station, the whole case had practically unraveled right before his eyes. He stopped in front of interrogation room three, which Blair had taken over to get Jim a quiet place to recuperate from the chaos of the station. Simon took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

Even after preparing himself for anything, the sight that greeted him caught him totally off guard. 

Blair and Jim had pulled the two chairs in the room around to face each other and Jim's forehead was resting on Blair's shoulder. Blair's arms were around Jim's back, his hands gently rubbing Jim like he might stroke a large house cat. He could have been holding an infant. 

A heartbeat later, both men started back away from each other, guiltily, like teenagers caught kissing on the porch. Simon felt vaguely guilty himself, and almost asked if he should leave, but Blair spoke up too quickly. 

"Simon, hey. So, what's up? Any chance we can get out of here soon? The sooner I can get Jim home the better. This is really messing with his equilibrium, you know?" 

Simon crossed his arms, an unconscious gesture to place a little more of a respectful distance between himself and the pair, and said, "Actually, that's what I was here to tell you. It looks like we've got it almost all figured out." 

Blair raised his eyebrows. 

"Really? That was quick." 

"Yeah, well, the perp was more than willing to testify. We made sure he was well aware that the attempted murder of two cops is not a crime the state takes lightly. The guy was a hired gun." 

Here Simon paused and looked down at the scarred, cigarette-burned table top. 

"He was hired by a cop." 

He didn't have to look up to catch the dismayed gasp from Blair. 

"Well, based on the description he gave us, we managed to narrow down the options pretty quick. Brown and Rafe went to bring in the possibles, and the minute they asked Officer Daniels to come in for questioning, he panicked." 

"Daniels?" Blair said, "Brent Daniels?" 

Simon nodded. 

"Damn," Blair said, quietly. 

"Yeah. We're still not sure why he'd be hiring someone to kill you, but I think it's probably a safe bet he was responsible for the attack in the warehouse as well." 

Simon risked glancing up. Sandburg was sitting very still, one hand rubbing Jim's shoulder. He seemed lost in thought. Eventually, though, he broke the silence. 

"I may know why." 

Simon waited for him to continue. 

"The Conley case... the only thing we could really find on the scene was a scent... well, Jim could smell it, anyway. Some kind of chemical mix, smelled like lavender and chloroform, jim said. Jim found the same scent at the scene of the Reever double murder...." Blair paused. "Officer Warren overheard us talking about it, and told his buddies. Daniels walked by while they were talking, he had to have overheard them. And... and the drug that guy used on Jim and I today smelled like lavender." 

Simon cursed softly under his breath. 

"Hell, Conley was an inside job, then. This is gonna look damn bad for the department. A rookie cop in on a witness elimination job. Shit. I'll have Rafe have another go at Daniels, see if we can get anything else out of him before his lawyer shows up." 

"It wasn't about us at all," Blair said. His voice sounded very small. 

Simon paused. 

"Yeah. Guess not." 

He turned towards the door, then turned back. 

"In the meantime, I'll have someone get you two back home." 

Blair looked like that was the best idea he'd heard all day. 

* * *

Jim could feel Blair's leg trembling as they leaned against each other in the elevator. Blair hadn't breathed a word of complaint, but he could tell he was hurting, in the way he'd so eagerly accepted Jim's help crossing the street back to the loft, in the light tremors that passed over his body, in the sharp scent of pain-sweat that rolled off of him. All he could think about was getting Blair back to the loft and sitting down. Jim was no stranger to gunshot wounds. Had a couple of his own at the moment, in fact, although they hadn't hit anything important. 

Jim wasn't sure if he had incredibly good luck, to avoid serious injury every time he got shot, or incredibly bad luck for getting shot so often. It was a good question to ask Sandburg... but not right now. 

He felt the elevator stop and felt the rush of air that hailed the doors sliding open. Together, he and Blair hobbled out into the hall, Jim half-carrying Blair, and Blair guiding him in the right direction. 

He waited until Blair had unlocked and opened the front door, then said, "Wrap your arm around my neck." 

He felt the air buzz with what was no doubt a question, and replied, "Just do it, Sandburg." 

And Sandburg actually did as he asked - that was certainly a first. Jim closed his eyes and made sure he had his bearings, then in one swift move bent down, hooked his arm around Blair's knees and stood, scooping him up in his arms. He felt some kind of exclamation, maybe a laugh, maybe a cry of protest, hard to tell. Whatever it was, it didn't dissuade him from carrying the other man into the loft and over to the couch. For a moment, he considered just carrying him up to his room, but then he decided that Blair might not be able to get back down the stairs. 

Blair punched him in the arm the minute he was safely earthbound on the couch, but it was a light, friendly punch, so Jim just grinned in the general direction of the heat source that was Blair. He got the feeling that Blair was grinning back. 

Suddenly, he felt Blair's hand on his cheek, felt him lean closer, felt the fiery warmth of his face only centimeters away, smelled the scent of his hair. Their breaths mingled between them, and Jim closed his eyes as Blair's cool hand slid around his neck, Blair's fingers splayed over the crescent of exposed skin of his back just above the collar of his jacket. 

He realized Blair was speaking, rhythmically timed puffs of air shimmering over his lips, but he didn't need to hear the words to understand them. 

"Blair," he whispered, and then their lips met, and this time there would be no turning back. Blair's hand slipped inside his shirt, feeling cold against his impossibly hot skin. The contrast made him shiver. Blair pushed closer and they flowed together like they were made of water, not flesh and bone, and he could feel Blair's chest moving fast and hard against his own, his heart hammering. 

They sank back on the couch, shedding jackets and shirts along the way. The cushions were rough against his bare back, but that was inconsequential next to the oblivion of Blair's kisses. Their touches were gentle, but not shy, like they knew that here they could do no wrong, moving with a slow but steady purpose. It seemed the last two days, the last five years, had been foreplay, and they weren't wasting time. 

Blair drew back to unzip Jim's pants and pull them off and then, for a moment, just a moment, he hesitated. Then he was back, covering Jim like a heavy blanket, his hands slowly gliding down Jim's sides and around his hips. Then one hand wrapped around Jim's erection and then other slid down deeper, pressing between Jim's thighs, gently coaxing them apart. 

Jim groaned and opened himself to Blair's touch. The tip of one finger just brushed over his anus and he couldn't stop a harsh gasp. 

"Please." 

Blair pulled away again for a moment, rummaging for something, leaving one hand, warm now, and soft with sweat, on Jim's hip to assure him he wasn't going anywhere. A moment later, he was back, kneeling between Jim's legs. Jim caught the scent of Blair's hand lotion and then felt two slick fingers slide inside him. He squirmed with pleasure, and threw his head back and sighed. 

Jim was relaxed and at ease, and Blair could clearly feel that, because the preparation was quick and then Blair got off the couch for a moment and nudged his hip, giving him room to roll over. He felt lightheaded as he did, focusing in on the scent of Blair, the taste of Blair still lingering on his tongue. He couldn't stop the shudder of anticipation as Blair's weight settled down over his back and shifted, and then slick hard heat pressed against him. Blair kissed his neck as he penetrated him. Jim shuddered. 

Tremors radiated from where Blair's body joined his, and he could barely breathe through the pleasure. Another thrust, and he felt a tightness begin at the base of his skull, tingling. Blair built a rhythm slowly, each thrust a little stronger, a little harder. But not faster. He kept it maddeningly slow, but Jim didn't think he could handle anymore. He felt hot and cold, trembling from the feeling, losing a little more of something with every surge of pressure inside him. This was Blair, taking him, claiming him. Even that thought was enough to make the next thrust more intense, to scatter fire and ice through his gut, his spine, his cock. 

"More," he gasped, because he wanted more than he could handle. He wanted to be torn apart and scattered to the wind. Wanted to lose himself and never find all the pieces. 

Blair's hand pushed beneath him, curled around his cock and began stroking him, his hand moving faster than his thrusts. Jim buried his face against the couch cushions and cried out, and Blair reacted to the sound, moving with more intent, not thrusting faster, just leaving less time between to recover. And that was all it took to push Jim the rest of the way out onto the slippery slope, he began to match Blair's movements, urgently fucking the slick hand that held him, caught up in the fire in his soul, running on pure instinct, and then he was there, right on the edge, a choking cry caught somewhere in his throat, his body throbbing to a primitive beat, pleasure so white hot it froze him, and in that timeless moment, he could see. 

A blue-eyed man wearing a borrowed lab coat and a stolen name tag. Incacha's bloody hand clutching Blair's arm. A panther and a wolf, leaping, colliding, merging in a flash of light. 

And then he was back in the real world, Blair shuddering through the final moments of his own orgasm above him. A few moments passed as they got their breath back, and then Blair pulled away and they turned onto their sides, facing each other, cuddling, shifting their hips to try to avoid the wet spot. He could feel tension in Blair's body and guessed the other man was probably desperate to say something. He ran a hand through Blair's hair and just said, "I know. I know." 

Somehow, that worked. He felt the tense muscles go lax and Blair pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. They held each other, still and silent, and Jim felt the changes in Blair's body as he slowly drifted off to sleep. He lay beside him for a little while, just feeling Blair's naked skin against his own, and the soothing slow breaths of peaceful slumber, and then he gently slid off the couch to sit on the floor. He leaned back against the couch and forced his own breathing to match that rhythm, slow and easy, let each breath carry away the thoughts that flitted at the surface of his mind, and focused inward, getting deeper with every shared exhalation, until, so subtly he barely felt the shift, he found himself standing in a quiescent jungle. 

The wind and chaos were gone. He was still alone, but it did not bother him. He began to move and his pace was sure and easy. He knew his destination. 

He stopped when he reached the temple steps and looked up. His gaze was met by deep blue eyes. The man on the terrace smiled. 

He didn't look any different than he did everyday, just dressed in flannel and jeans, his hair long and loose around his shoulders, two earrings glinting in the sunlight. Blair. 

"So, Jim, are you ready to take that trip yet?" 

He didn't even have to think. 

"Just tell me where." 

Blair's smile widened. 

"Then you're already there, man." 

* * *

Blair woke to find evening sunlight tilting through the windows. He sat up and shoved the hair back out of his eyes, then looked around. Jim was standing in front of the balcony doors, backlit by the fire of sunset and still naked. Blair had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Jim turned away from the glass. 

"Hey," he said, softly. 

Their eyes met and they both smiled. 

* * *

End Seeing by Trekker: trkkr47@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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